Just a Blessing
by Mrs Dionysius O'Gall
Summary: A church in Giverny, France on a cold and rainy November morning.


I look down at the papers spread across my desk, and in time with the soft whisper of the rain, let out a soft sigh. This particular activity is always quite tedious.

Lulled by the rain, I tighten my grasp around my cardigan and consider the top form on my stack of papers. Same old, same old. Paperwork. No matter who the customer, it always seems the same.

Today started off as not the best of days. November here, is never the best. Always cold and rainy. There's a reason why spring and summer are the tourist season. And to top it all off, I awoke this morning coughing up a storm. Again.

Looks like it's winter-cold time, I think as I reach for a tissue.

I return my attention to the financial papers regarding Saint Radegonde Church, in the rainy and cold village of Giverny, and call out for the parish administrator, Madame Hoschedé. Only she will be able to let me know if the expenses that Père Jean-Marie incurred on his late-winter trips to Rouen are deductible.

"Madame Hoschedé?" I softly call out as I peer out over my desk, and see her in the church proper, chatting with a couple.

Oh yes, tourists. Well, it's a good thing for this church and this town that there are so many tourists. Always coming to see the lilies and garden made famous by Monet. Hmmm. I wonder if they realize what an eco-terrorist he was, not hesitating to divert a branch of the Epte River to create his artistic paradise?

Madame Hoschedé looks over at me, acknowledging me with an eyebrow raise over her glasses, and I silently let her know that the customer, the tourist, comes first.

I see Madame Hoschedé come to some sort of an agreement with the couple, and then see her rise and enter the priest's office. An instant later, I hear a booming "Bon jour, bon jour!" from Père Jean-Marie.

That's strange; he usually never talks to the tourists. He's an old-fashioned rural priest, content to collect the coins in the donation box to keep this beautiful ancient church in shape.

Curious, I continue observing as I see the man separate from Madame Hoschedé and the lady. He affably puts his arm around Père Jean-Marie, in that overly-familiar way Americans have. I see him whisper in the good Father's ear, then reach into his wallet and flash a wad of Euros.

I continue staring; I'm the church accountant, after all. Here on business. And flashing Euros mean business.

He returns to the lady and whispers in her ear. She bites her lip, looks nervous, all cold and wet and bedraggled in a stone-cold church in the middle of nowhere, 75 km from Paris. Off the beaten track, as they say.

"Madame Wandrille! Madame Wandrille."

Startled, I hear Madame Hoschedé call my name.

"Madame Wandrille! Alice?"

Hearing my first name, I finally snap to it.

"Hmm?" I look up for a second. "Yes, Madame Hoschedé?"

"I know this is an unusual request, but can you sign this for me...I mean, they need a witness to sign it..." Holding a piece of paper in one hand, she walks towards me.

Putting the church's accounts ledger down, I smile. "Another receipt, Père Jean-Marie? You'd better watch out--all those trips over to Normandy will have people talking…"

Père Jean-Marie has known me since I was a child. He laughs, and says, "Just one minute, while I go get my suit coat," even as I take the paper Madame Hoschedé is wanting me to sign. Walking away, he suddenly turns around and adds, "I think we finally have the money for that fancy computer system you want to put in for the books…"

I smile, and simultaneously take the paper from Madame Hoschedé's outstretched hand. My smile turns to a grin as I look at it.

A church blessing upon a married couple.

Ah, they must have gotten married in Paris in front of a city official, and were now come here to Giverny to have a quaint church blessing.

I see the man fingering something in his pocket as he hopefully looks at me, and the lady smiles as well. For a moment, it is as if the man might move to offer me some Euros too!

Shaking my head, I return to professional mode and smile. "Better to be safe than sorry, eh?" I address the couple in English. "Get god's blessing…"

Madame Hoschedé interjects. "Madame, I just need you to witness for the church record that they are of sound mind and healthy body."

I smile at the couple. Looking down at the typed form, I pick up my pen and scribble my signature on the indicated line.

As Madame Hoschedé hands the paper to the man, he reaches his arm around the woman, and he signs his name as well. Then she signs hers.

She drops the pen mid-signature, also awkwardly dropping the form unceremoniously onto the church floor.

She stares at the pen, unable to move. He picks it up and places it in her hand.

"Come on, Lor, just sign it and let's 'git 'er done'..." he says quietly. "We're here, it's dry and I don't want to wait 'til I'm 80."

She stares at his face, then signs. I wonder why she is so introspective about a mere blessing.

"Thank you," Père Jean-Marie adds as he returns, in his cleric's suit, and motions the couple to the nave.

The woman dabs at her eyes with a tissue she has kept wadded in her coat pocket, and I swear she forces a smile onto her face.

Madame Hoschedé and I follow them to the nave, and Père Jean-Marie begins the convalidation blessing. It goes quickly, very quickly, and I wonder if the couple even knows what he's saying. He quickly glosses over the introduction, then turns his full attention to the words he asks the couple to repeat. The couple stumbles through the French words, and with a quick sign of the cross, it's over. The man and Père Jean-Marie shake hands, and the priest leaves, then the man approaches me. His hair is still wet from the rain, and he quickly presses something into my hand.

"Merci," he says without emotion, and turns away.

I open my hand. 500 Euro. All for witnessing a mere blessing, I think in surprise.

I watch as the man goes over to the woman, who is standing near the back of the church, looking at the stained glass depictions of the writers of the Gospel. The man loudly says, "We're married, Lor! Married!"

Standing in front of the likeness of St. Luc, she wearily smiles at him.

It was just a blessing, I think.

Author's notes:  
The real Madame Alice Hoschedé was the woman Monet lived with in Giverny.  
Sainte-Wandrille was an abbey during Merovingian times.  
The catholic church in Giverny is Sainte Radegonde Church. 


End file.
